Thinking your problems are special ends up making you stuck

I wait until my kids and husband go to bed. I wait ten extra minutes just in case. Then I take my new book out of the bag: Family Violence: Legal, Medical and Social Perspectives.

It’s a textbook organized by types of violence. The only light on in the house is the one next to the sofa where I curl up to read.

I flip through pages: Neglect, sexual abuse, ritual abuse. Everything is here.

I pause at physical abuse. There are lists of signs. Inconsistent stories from caretakers. Belt marks. Hand prints.

Burns are most common for kids under three. I think of my burn. How old was I? I was older, because I could walk to the doctor’s office by myself.

I read more. Kids hurt themselves doing normal, every day activities. They bruise themselves when they bump or fall on bony parts of their body: elbow, knee, forehead. The book says to look for marks on fleshy parts where kids would not fall or bump: the underside of an arm, the area around the genitals.

I shut the book. I can’t read more. It is 11pm. I should go to bed but I can’t because I don’t know what would go through my head during that time from when my head touches the pillow and my brain goes to sleep. Anything could come up. Some nights I stay up so late, get myself so tired, that I don’t remember the moment between putting my head on the pillow and falling asleep. Those are my best nights.

I walk around the house cleaning. Waiting until I can pick up the book again. I have twenty emails to answer. I have three business plans to review. I have a magazine article to write. I am not doing that. I am doing something else, but if you asked me what I’m doing I would not know.

It’s midnight and I sit down on the sofa to read again. I flip through random spots in the book so I’m sort of reading and sort of getting ready to stop reading.

There are six pages of burns.

I stare at the pages. I have a scar from a burn. It’s so prominent that it’s on my passport as an identifying mark: on the inside of the upper right thigh. I can remember filling out the passport form. I remember one of my parents – I don’t know which one – reminding me that I can fill in the section about scars. I remember thinking I didn’t know they knew I had a scar there. Or I didn’t know we acknowledge it. I just remember thinking, really? We are going to put that on my passport?

Everyone said that the iron fell on me. I pulled the iron off the ironing board and it fell on me.

But just now, this late in life, I realize that an eight year old cannot pull an iron off an ironing board and hit the inside of her thigh. And, even if it did, somehow, hit the inside of my thigh, how could it have been there long enough to give me a third-degree burn?

I went to the doctor’s office after school for weeks. The burn was disgusting and she treated it with yellow stuff and gauze. For a few weeks, the doctor was there for me every day after school, and I got a lollipop after each redressing of the wound. If I rearranged things in my head I could tell myself that my life was getting normal because someone was meeting me after school and giving me an after school snack.

No one questioned whether or not I pulled the iron. We all just kept saying that I pulled the iron down. I do not have any idea what happened.

But here’s what I know: my ability to see abuse is really limited.

I am terrified that I have no judgement for how to parent. I’m terrified that abuse seems full of nuance and I don’t see it. I don’t understand how people learn what is abuse, and my kids are growing up. It’s getting too late.

I answer emails at 2am, 3am. My kids see me nap in the day so often that they tell people I sleep all the time.

At this point I don’t have a work schedule because I need a clear head to work, with lots of room to think, but as soon as I get that, bad thoughts might come. Which makes me almost scared to clear room in my life to do work. I walk around worrying that a thought will come up that I can’t get rid of.

But the truth is that I’m operating at about half my ability because I let myself be unproductive. I tell myself I’m special so I can stay up all night and then not function during the day. I tell myself I have that burn on my thigh. Or the scar on my eyebrow, or the nail in my heart. Whatever it is. That’s why I tell myself I don’t have to function like a normal person.

But that’s more sad than all the stories hidden in my head. The saddest story is thinking you’re special, you’re different, you’re too messed up to take responsibility for adult life. It is not interesting to be the messed up person who never goes to sleep. All people who think they’re special in their fucked-up ways are boring. They are boring because they use the idea that they are special to excuse them from meeting the regular struggles of adult life, like getting enough sleep and being accountable for a to do list.

I can only let myself buy books about family violence and tell stories about my messed up childhood if I’m not going to let it derail me. There are milestones I need to hit throughout the day: make breakfast at a normal time, don’t leave dishes in the sink. Answer the phone for a scheduled call. Meet writing deadlines. Follow through on promises to the kids even if it means playing Go Fish.

It’s so easy to say you’re different and special. It’s much harder to hold yourself to the standards most adults hold themselves to.

So what am I doing to stop acting like I’m crazy and absolved from adult life? Going to sleep before midnight. It’s a small step, but making small, intentional behavioral change is what works to create bigger, more substantive change.

 

Posted in Productivity
132 comments on “Thinking your problems are special ends up making you stuck
  1. Yuan says:

    Best post, most insightful post, most lucid post, I have ever read from you in a long time. I’m proud of you Penelope. :)

    • Paul Hassing says:

      You got in in one, Yuan! This is a pearler. :)

    • Evy MacPhee says:

      This post moved me so much. Your writing is so powerful.

      I thought of my terror of that space between when my head hits the pillow and I can, maybe, finally, FINALLY, allow my brain to go to sleep.

      And when the nightmares get too scary, I can wrench myself out of a sound sleep to fully awake.

      I am going to ask my present therapist whether she thinks I can safely read that book. She’ll probably say no.

      I am 65 and still in therapy. But then the first third of my life was all abuse.

      Ain’t dead yet.

  2. Rita says:

    I don’t know if it’s your writing, or the subjects you choose, always grabs me and captivates me. Thanks so much. This was chilling. I know this isn’t your intention, but I don’t feel so alone after reading your work. thank you!

  3. Ruth Zive says:

    Cut yourself some slack. Everyone is fucked up by the time they reach adulthood. Playing Go Fish, napping during the day or remembering your carpool schedule isn’t the difference between well adjusted kids or not (in my opinion). Trying your best, being aware of the pitfalls, admitting your mistakes and loving unconditionally. I think those are good goals. Oh…and getting to bed before midnight. Most of the time.

  4. emily says:

    Beautiful!

  5. Candice says:

    This is one of the smartest, most useful things you’ve ever written.

  6. Dannielle Blumenthal says:

    What a post…I am crying for you and I am crying with you Penelope.

    I want to say a couple of things right here and right now.
    1. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with you, physically or mentally, at all (Asperger’s or any personality disorder whatsoever). B.S., what you are suffering is the aftereffect of having been abused.
    2. You are so very brave.
    3. You are an inspiration to me as a writer and as a human being. The way you have rebuilt your life, the way you speak your truth, the way you are homeschooling your two beautiful sons to make sure they are properly educated and cared for.
    4. You are so very talented and wise.
    5. Your generosity toward us, your readers, will come back to you a thousand fold – that’s just karma.

    Your blog, and your personal revelations and the many people whose lives you have touched, truly reinforce my faith in G-d. The Jewish concept of “tikkun olam” – that we are all here to repair the world in some form – is so true. You could not be the writer you are, without suffering what you did. I hope you know every single day when you look in your mirror that you are doing something positive simply by existing.

    Dannielle

    • Evy MacPhee says:

      Yes.

      What you are doing is part of healing the world. Which certainly needs it.

      In all your writing you have consistently attempted to make sure that you treated your boys well.

      You probably aren’t perfect. Wait until they are teenagers and they will tell you, repeatedly and in detail.

      You care about them, listen to them, do your best for them constantly, homeschool them.

      Do you know the concept of the good enough parent? You are far beyond the good enough parent.

      When they get into their mid to late twenties they will tell you so.

      And, being YOUR children, they will be articulate enough to tell you well.

      I wish you could treat yourself or try to treat yourself as well as you focus on treating them. It’s harder. I know that.

      It is challenging to figure out how much slack to give yourself as an adult who was abused as a child. I struggle with it hourly.

      My therapist comes down on me for saying and/or implying mean things about myself. Keeps her busy.

      Be as gentle with yourself as you can manage.

      Burn on your inner thigh. ARGH!

  7. Nan says:

    Questioning your parenting and the impact of your childhood on your ability to effectively raise your children is healthy. You show your love for your children to all in so many ways when you blog about them, even when they’re peripheral to the post.

  8. rachel del grosso // heraura says:

    wow. just wow.

  9. Tom says:

    Yet another great post. Wow.

    That “your suffering makes you special” is the big lie that means hundreds of thousands of therapists will never have to do a day of honest work in their lives.

    Your suffering makes you boring, yes. But it also makes you a patsy.

    • Rachel says:

      Your suffering also informs you of problems. And that you are human. ENTJs are not good at knowing their limits. If you were INFP I would say, yes, you need to get over it. ENTJs need to trust that their emotions aren’t just things to be analyzed and discarded. I’m being honest because you’re so honest P. Also go find an INFP. Horrible whiners about their own lives. Emotional geniuses with others.

  10. Sarah says:

    This is one of my favorite posts you’ve ever written.. I dunno how exactly I relate to it but I sensed your vulnerability here & made me just admire your courage to write this & then post it! I know this is not easy & I know it’s a big positive step…
    I think I’m too special to be with any guy, I’m looking for a special guy like me….

    • Penelope Trunk says:

      I just want to say thanks to all of you who commented and liked this. I am never certain what you guys will like until I post. I always brace myself for the comments…

      Anyway, one of the most notable things about this community is that it’s full of people who take tons of personal responsibility for getting our life in order and making life what we want it to be for ourselves. The comments section of this post is like a little ode to personal responsibility.

      It makes me happy that we’re in this together.

      Penelope

      • DStrider says:

        Behold those who have eaten the fruit of the tree, and the tree’s name was “The Just World Hypothesis”.

  11. Diamond says:

    Beautifully written. One of your best posts recently. Thank you for your honesty with a difficult subject. I know from personal experience that it is not always easy to stop your past from derailing you, but you just have to keep moving. Thanks for the reminder.

  12. FilmTurtle says:

    I think about these things all the time, lately. There is a terrific quote by Golda Meir that has resonated with me lately: “Don’t be so humble, you’re not that great.”

    I don’t know that I walk around thinking my artistic gifts or my unique perspective on the human condition set me apart in a substantive way; I certainly believe in myself and my ability to contribute, but I don’t know that I think it makes me particularly special. It just makes me human.

    But I have spent a terrifying amount of time feeling that my pain was more exquisite than anyone else’s. I’ve used it to justify too much of my own selfishness, laziness and apathy. Perhaps the trick to finally growing up, and finding some measure of emotional maturity, is to accept that my pain is not unique, and that’s okay. Damn, the ego moves in mysterious ways.

  13. Nancy says:

    It’s a pity that the body heals far more quickly than the heart. Neither will heal unless you acknowledge the hurt, stop picking at it and allow it to mend.

    Rest.

  14. Alexis says:

    Good luck going to bed earlier. This is a great first step on a big journey. We all have to climb uphill to get where we’re going. Some of us have big hills and some of us have mountains. I hear that when you get to the top the view is really grand. You’ll have to let me know.

  15. Irving Podolsky says:

    As always Penelope, when it comes to your personal stuff – it’s PERSONAL! And human and vulnerable and honest.

    And that’s sort of flattering because people like me need to know that people like you are ready to trust us with your secrets.

    Okay, with you, there ARE no secrets.

    And I know that you’re really not trusting ME. Maybe cyber space, but specifically me.

    Still, it FEELS personal so I won’t blab it around.

    I also think that you ARE special because not everyone exposes themselves the way you do and let’s us folk know we’re not alone in our fucked-up-ness.

    I open up to my friends and workmates. The ones that want to reciprocate are closest to me. The people who wanna talk about distractions like TV and sports, those “others” don’t want my words too close to them. Or me.

    Can’t help that. I need to break down barriers when I connect with other souls. If I don’t, I feel alone. And worse, bored.

    Mom says I make people uncomfortable because I remind them of stressful things in their lives. I know that. Most people hope for happy screens between themselves and the scary stuff.

    Me? I only feel comfortable when I’m facing my shit with hopes of getting past it. It’s my life’s job.

    But battling internal fear isn’t a group sport, is it? Most people prefer not to talk about childhood pain at lunch. They’d rather pay for listening in therapy. Or read your blog.

    Thanks for another peek into your world. I know you’re doing the best you can inside it. And your struggle shows us that we too can face our dragons and win. Happiness optional.

    One more thing…

    I think someone can think of themselves as different and special and still be responsible…even sleep during the day!

    I do.

    ’til next time,

    Irv

  16. Mark W. says:

    I think you bought the book to know yourself better and be a better parent. That’s not being unproductive. However, reading it (or at least at the time of day you’re reading it) is interfering with your responsibilities as bread winner and parent as you said. Going to sleep before midnight, getting enough sleep, and establishing a routine is a really good step in the right direction. I think it’s ironic and sad that the neglect and violence you experienced as a child which was hidden and secret is now being read by you in a hidden and secret fashion after everyone has gone to bed. I didn’t experience family violence but it does sadden me and I can sympathize with you. I hope you do find a solution where you can read the book and yet still reach the productivity levels you seek.

  17. TD says:

    I don’t want to say this was sad and beautiful, but it was. I loved the conclusion where you see that a pity party for yourself is only an excuse to not be a responsible adult. I need to remind myself of this more often.

  18. Nora says:

    Penelope,
    You go, girl. I have recently found your blog and all I can say is, “Wow!”…I thank you for sharing and being so real about yourself, your past, and your issues! I have many myself, and you helped me feel not so alone today!

    Surviving trauma does mess you up, as I have only recently begun to realize and to deal with…whether it be family violence, childhood sexual abuse or whatever. Being a survivor and SHARING about it takes tremendous courage and strength…
    You are a true blessing to me. Thank you,
    Nora

  19. Kat Alexander says:

    This is my new favorite post. I barely breathed through the whole thing. I remember how derailing it was to crack open books like that, how difficult it was to function for days. And the little boundaries of self care, like sleep, are crucial to pulling through. Brilliant advice, Penelope. Thank you.

  20. Kristin says:

    sleep well, my friend <3

  21. Frank Traylor says:

    Wow. I know from personal experience as well as seeing it in others that there are many excuses not to reach one’s potential. Your’s is not an excuse. It is a riveting story. You seem bountifully productive and your post demonstrates admirable courage.

  22. Andrea says:

    My ex-husband was a person who could never make that step and go to bed before midnight. He was stuck in the moment of pity for himself, unable to take a responsibility for his adult life. I know the wording of the next sentence fails, because “nice” is not the expression I am looking for, but it’s also the best one I can come up with. It’s nice to hear some people can see clearly enough. It’s nice to see you know you need to go to bed before midnight.

  23. Jana says:

    I started out thinking you were writing this during your teenage years and then I realized this was happening now. I’m sorry, truly. We all have our stuff…some peoples stuff is really apparent and some people’s stuff is hidden. Although we don’t share the same faith, we have the same God. Praying for you.

  24. Kitty says:

    Yes. Going through this myself. Quite a big step to look at the scars and realize the family funny stories are f***** up. Why didn’t I see that decades ago?

    I’m finding alot of useful stuff at Lights House website. Know that there are others of us on the same journey though we usually choose not to let anyone see. Early training from the adults around us (not to let anyone see inside). Seems nearly impossible to break.

  25. Jenn-ski says:

    Somtimes you can get stuck on a roller coaster of emotion and it is so hard to get off. Even to get off for a few seconds leaves you with, okay, now what? And the roller coaster takes off again and you have to hold on. What choice do you have? Jump to another roller coaster that is at least going somewhere.

    When your life is taking you nowhere, rely on your career. A lady named Penelope Trunk taught me that.

  26. Sarah Crossan says:

    Thanks for this. I’m at one of those crossroads of needing to look at some things in my life in a different way. I needed to read this tonight (it’s night for me in Glasgow).

    Thanks.

  27. Darnell Jackson says:

    Well, we are all special so we all have a unique view of our problems so that makes us think they are special too.

    In a way they are because perception is reality.

    Truth is there are billions of people on the planet only a handful of actual problems.

  28. GingerR says:

    It’s difficult to accept that you aren’t special, but once you do that you can get on with straightening out what needs to be fixed.

    Just recently a favorite blogger of mine posted about her “management” of a drinking problem. She’s not some common drunk, she’s special. If she can manage it I say good job.

    I hope it works for her.

  29. Mary Sherman says:

    Thank you for your honesty and straightforwardness. In a world of hints and things left unsaid, it is unbelievably refreshing and comforting to me.
    It’s as if most of the neuro-typicals ‘photoshop’ their lives for public consumption, while those of us lacking the photoshop ability suffer by comparison. But maybe we just shouldn’t compare…especially since it always seemts to be apples and oranges compared anyway.
    Sleep well!

  30. Denise says:

    Love this post. I think it is true that once you are an adult you have to face the consequences of your choices. I feel like when I was in college I didn’t even function as an adult – sleeping late, partying late, or skipping class at times. It’s not until I get to the working world I realize that if I don’t go to bed at a normal hour I can’t function in the morning and my coworkers think I’m nuts for drinking so much coffee.

    I think you are great at using stories to prove at point, even though at times it doesn’t look like you are proving a point, but at the end, there is always a great takeaway that we can always relate to!

  31. Gemma says:

    Hi Penelope,

    I’m with you on this. Thanks for posting. It’s inspiring to see myself reflected in your pages and to know you have the courage to stare pain in the face and then share.

    When I start disintegrating into thinking of myself as a sick person my seemingly simple yet hard to achieve goal is eating three meals a day. And breakfast happens before 10am – not at 6pm. The food and regular sleep pattern it enforces helps but so too does holding myself accountable for being a functioning adult. There’s something empowering about deciding to know what the psych community diagnoses you as and then just going ahead and being a good person anyway.

    Again thanks for posting this and all your other insights.

    I reckon this TED talk might make you feel more normal in being drawn to the pain: http://www.ted.com/talks/karen_thompson_walker_what_fear_can_teach_us.html (Isn’t TED awesome?)

    I hope you function more days than you don’t,
    Gemma.

    • Kitty says:

      Eating three meals at a regular time……this is one way I work on it too. I started by breathing. A counselor pointed out to me recently that I breathe all the time in freeze mode. He asked me to concentrate on breathing. And sent me home with supplements. I quickly realized that I had decided in childhood that I was not worthy of breath, food, etc. It’s been a struggle to decide minute by minute to accept life – to feed my body, to take in oxygen, to encourage myself to be here. So weird. I’m 54. I didn’t know I was trying to check out early by refusing to breathe, eat, drink, exercise. But I now know that is exactly what I was doing. And I catch myself slipping back into freeze mode breathing and non-eating because it’s so comfortable and numb there.

  32. pfj says:

    “We are special because . . . ”

    Well.

    I am 70. Maybe don’t look or sound it. But I find myself telling people so that they will cut me some slack. (Hoping for, but not getting, much slack at all.)

    Maybe the “special” feeling is . . . wishing that the world would cut you some slack. Not because you feel like you *deserve* it, but because you *need* it.

    World: cut me some slack.

  33. Holly Woods says:

    Penelope,
    I read your posts because they are honest and true, raw glimpses of everyday life. I like that because it reflects who I have become also. I write the same true stories, so we are kindred spirits, and it’s always good to have sisters and brothers that know what we mean when we say it hurts. And we are kindred in that we have endured, and are now able to talk about, our experiences of childhood. There is definitely healing in that- in facing the flaws of our parents or other influential people in our lives and recognizing that we can move past it. It does not have to be our lifelong story that cripples us.

    The work I now do helps others to let go of the emotional pain of their past that keeps them stuck, so they can embrace joy and find life purpose. You’ve obviously done some of this work. Let me know if I can help in any other way.

    You’re in my thoughts!

  34. Jeff N says:

    Penelope,

    Do you ever try medication for PTSD at bedtime, like Prazosin?

    • Penelope Trunk says:

      I googled this. Thanks for the recommendation. I think I need to be more educated on the art of pharmaceuticals. So thank you for the comment.

      Penelope

  35. Jay says:

    Don’t over think your burn mark. If you can’t remember what happened, then there is a good chance it really was the accident that everyone else seems to remember.

    I remember one time when I was ironing in the hallway, and my daughter–who had to be 3 or 4 at the time–was sitting on a chest watching me. She wasn’t saying anything, just watching me iron. I decided to run into the kitchen to get something really quick and I didn’t take my daughter with me because she had been sitting there so quietly and because I was going to be right back. What could possibly happen? Well, I came back in a minute or two, and she was still sitting there–I hadn’t even heard her move. I continue ironing. A few minutes pass and she starts to get teary-eyed. I check her over and find a burn mark on the inside of her wrist from the steam of the iron. She had tried to iron like me when I left the room. She still has the circular burn mark on the inside of her wrist today.

    So, my point is that sometimes, in the blink of an eye, kids can and do get into trouble and get weird bruises. It rarely happens, but yeah, it does actually happen. A weird mark doesn’t necessarily mean a child was abused, just that a parent or other caretaker wasn’t watching as closely as they should have been.

  36. val says:

    There are a million ways to be a good parent and one of them is to break the cycle of violence. And you have, in addition, your children’s children will reap the many benefits as will each subsequent generation. God Bless.

  37. Dannielle Blumenthal says:

    OK so now as a writer I return to the question of art.

    Penelope – how do you “go there” – write about things like this – without going crazy? How do the memories not overwhelm you with pain? And how do you write about painful things without sounding sort of terrible, unskilled and nutty?

    The artists I admire most – yourself, Lena Dunham, Woody Allen – they are able to go there so well, and leave, and so skillfully.

    If you are able to distance yourself enough to provide some thoughts on this – the way you do with step-by-step advice on any other career topic – I would appreciate it. Because I always wanted to write from that place, but have never been able to.

  38. Ann Stanley says:

    Thanks for reminding me that I’m not the only one who struggles with unwanted thoughts. I tend to think everyone else is happy and rational while I wrestle with demons and even though I learn that this is a mistake over and over again, each time the lesson comes as a relief. I hope you get some relief soon too.

  39. Fe says:

    You dug deep and wrenched that out of yourself and it is so powerful moreso because that may not have been your intention.
    You hit home on so many levels. And you’re not even done, yet.

  40. Kitty says:

    Your comment that “my ability to see abuse is really limited” struck a chord with me. I think your ability may be limited in the immediate moment, but you are self-aware enough to reflect on those moments and trust your gut that something wasn’t right.

    Then try, try, try again to do better, do it differently, and take those baby steps. Sleep is crucial, too.

    You should know that there are parents out there who have sworn to do better but don’t find it easy. We have self-reflection, self-awareness, at least. The ability to be honest, to not dwell in denial – it can threaten many people, but it is the right way to live and bring peace into the world.

  41. MemeGRL says:

    Yes. Getting to sleep is one of the best things you can do for yourself. I don’t remember what kind of exercise you are getting during the day but do more. Tire yourself out that way if you can. But the sleep. The sleep. The sleep. SO critical.

  42. Kendra says:

    This is such an insightful and amazing post. I have been struggling with similar things recently. Today, I told myself I didn’t need to go to class because I needed a mental health day. You’re right though, I need to stop thinking I’m special so I can avoid the real world.

    Thanks for this post. I hope you’re okay.

  43. Mary Kathryn says:

    Such an excellent post. You shoot so straight. Nearly everyone can find a way in which he is “special.” We all want an excuse to shut down. Thanks for the reminder.

  44. S. J. says:

    I thought you had it all together Penelope. It’s less intimidating to talk to you, knowing you are human :) Although I wish your parents were better parents. I like you. They missed out but not realizing what a special addition you were to life here

    And my goal is to go to bed before midnight tonight too, fyi

    Let us know if you succeed? Please?

  45. Karen Palasek says:

    Wow. This is important, an important discovery. Good to know, in the sense that “All information is good information.”
    Understanding your memory is good, the tricky thing is keeping it from slipping away out of consciousness and memory again. That’s really hard, given that you’ve revisited some really unwelcome info.
    There is a lot of power in the combined wisdom of the kid who got burned with your adult wisdom. What are you going to do with it now that you’ve tapped into it?

  46. Anna Louise says:

    When it comes to unspeakable horrors and trauma, I discovered one way of looking at the world that helped me enormously. A Course in Miracles. It literally healed an impossible situation for me.

  47. Jenn says:

    What is normal?
    What is the opposite of normal?
    How do I make the right choices?
    Where do I start to be a parent that I never had?
    How do I make it through the day without f-ing them up forever?
    How do I live without dreaming and make it to morning?
    Why do I long for the morning light when the sun hasn’t even gone down yet?
    Why do I want to hug them forever then turn around and run and never turn back?
    Why will my every choice be accompanied by “the voice” that makes me over think myself into a dull tingling fog by 9am?

    You have moving words and it has been a long time since I have thought these thoughts……May you sleep well and the shining sun wake you with peace for tomorrow is another day to you.

  48. Leah McClellan says:

    This is really moving and almost painful for me to read because I think I understand.

    On the one hand, I agree with your final statement and similar things about not being so “special” in the sense of not being any different. On the other, you are special even if only because you are the only “you” you’ve got, and you’re living with your own particular life situation and experiences. So of course you’re special.

    I get the sense that a part of you needs healing and big hugs, a way to somehow categorize or come to terms with this stuff so it doesn’t trouble you anymore or at least not much. Yes, you are special. Worthy of love and lots of hugs–and that little girl who was burned is special and worthy, too. Maybe that would be a good thing to consider, that you are special, very special. We all are.

    Reminds me of my own attempts to read Alice Miller’s stuff. Very hard.

  49. rhubs says:

    so much truth in just a few paragraphs!

  50. L. Mary says:

    Something has changed recently. You’re posts are different. And, they are better.

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